


Never Again

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Chocolate Box Treat, Deviates From Canon, F/F, Flight of the Noldor, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elemmírë and Lalwen meet one last time as lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).



“Elemmírë?” Lalwen gasps, her whole body tensing as she senses a presence in the dark hallway. Her eyes are unused to it after spending several hours in the main hall with its multitude of lamps, and it's with difficulty that she makes out her lover's unmistakable silhouette. “What are you doing here?”

Elemmírë emerges from the shadows. She is dressed plainly, and her wavy golden hair is tied back in a very loose ponytail from which several strands have escaped.

“I have heard you decided to leave.”

Elemmírë's tone is unusually cool, but her voice is rich and melodious as always, and Lalwen is heartened by it, if only for a moment. They had seen each other but once after the Darkening, and the sorrowful verses of the Aldudénië have been the only reminder of her lover Lalwen has had during those terrible months. 

Elemmírë steps forward and closes the distance between them, wrapping an arm around Lalwen's waist and pulling her close. Lalwen makes to return the hug, but halts, abruptly disquieted, and has the urge to recoil. A pungent smell hangs about Elemmírë – not too foul, but unpleasant. 

“I won't change my mind,” she says, perhaps a little too harshly. 

“I haven't come here for that.”

“What have you come here for, then?”

Elemmírë doesn't reply straight away. Lalwen tries to look into her eyes, but only catches a glimpse of shadowed sky-blue as Elemmírë tilts her head down.

“I...wanted to see you.”

Elemmírë presses a kiss to her lips. Lalwen tries to clamp her mouth shut, but her resistance lasts only so long. Her lips part, and all thoughts and concerns relating to the imminent departure fly from her mind. In the blink of an eye, they find each other in Lalwen's bedroom, among clothes strewn carelessly about, the broken pieces of a vase Lalwen had shattered in a fit of rage, and her father's last present sitting solitary on a table as a needless reminder of grief.

The bed is unmade, as if it had been waiting for them. Elemmírë tumbles Lalwen down on it, and Lalwen goes slack under her. 

“You follow your own family, I pursue wonders, as ever,” Elemmírë says as she slips her large, slightly calloused hands under Lalwen's blouse. 

Lalwen yanks on her hair and covers her mouth with her own. 

They don't talk anymore from then on; their voices only form sweet moans and call out each other's name. 

Their bodies take over, their limbs entwining in fervent, almost desperate passion. 

When it's done, when Elemmírë stands up and collects her clothing from the floor, carefully putting it back on, such a void opens up inside Lalwen that she almost reconsiders her decision. But she won't let her brothers go alone. She has to stay by Ñolofinwë's side. She desperately wishes Elemmírë would go with her, but she knows Elemmírë has no reason to leave, and she is too proud to ask.

Elemmírë starts to walk away. She stops on the doorway, and turns. 

“We will see each other again soon,” she mutters.

If Lalwen had been looking into Elemmírë's eyes, she would have seen the spark in them, but her gaze is turned inward, to light-filled days and memories of their time together: their first meeting in an unbearably hot conservatory in Valmar, songs trickling from their lips in mirth like bubbling waters, hours upon hours spent making love. She has to bite back tears. “Do not...count on it.” 

Elemmírë smiles a wry, wan smile and leaves. 

*

The true meaning of Elemmírë's words became clear to Lalwen as the Ñoldor set out from Tirion. All breath left her, and her stomach felt as if it had turned upon itself. The sight before her eyes had to be a bad dream, a product of the dark.

But her eyes didn't lie. 

Elemmírë mounted a white, tall mare next to Lalwen's own hated half-sister at the front of the Fëanorian side of the host, a long sword strapped to her side.

With bile rising in her throat, Lalwen realised that the smell she had detected on Elemmírë on their last night together had been the acrid smell of soot she had often smelled on Fëanárë.

Their gazes met for an instant – a flash of fury, hurt and incomprehension that was returned with impassibility on Elemmírë's once-beloved face before she turned her horse East.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the worst break-up scenarios for these two I could come up with (with a dash of genderswapping too).


End file.
